


Sick of It. - One-shot

by raccodactyl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fist Fights, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Arthur, Some angst, dutch is a dick in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19074904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccodactyl/pseuds/raccodactyl
Summary: Dutch has it out with Arthur and you take major issue, showing up and putting Dutch in his place.





	Sick of It. - One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> ayoo this was inspired by [some art on tumblr ](https://hackeraxe.tumblr.com/post/183775927308/this-was-inspired-after-a-roleplay-i-did-with) so go ahead and check that out. love dutch but he's fun to make a dick out of.

“What the hell is going on with you lately, ” Dutch scolded harshly. ”I'm fucking sick of it, Arthur.  _ Sick of it _ . Start pulling your goddamn weight around here before I decide to kick your ass.”

 

”Dutch, I-” Arthur stammered, dumbfounded.  ”I've been gone but I've been putting money in the box, I swear.” 

 

”I don't wanna hear it, ” he spat, ”You shouldn't need to tell me what you've been doing. I should be able to  _ see _ it.”

 

”I don't know what you want me to tell you. I've been doing what I can and I don't think it's my fault you've not been paying attention.” 

 

Dutch looked red, steam practically coming from his ears. His voice was low and firm, ”I will not tolerate disrespect from you boy.” He got in Arthur’s face, fisting a hand to clutch the collar of his shirt, ”YOU. AIN’T. SHIT.” 

 

Arthur bit at his lip to keep himself together. There was nothing he could do, no way to get another word in. When Dutch was in these moods, there was no getting through to him, Arthur knew that better than anyone. 

 

Dutch let him go and shoved him back before turning on his heels and walking toward his tent. Arthur stood there shocked, barely holding himself together. He tried to gain his bearings but knew he needed some time to collect himself properly. He made a beeline for the hitching post and got on his horse, riding toward the shore and trotting along the lakefront until he found a desolate spot east of camp. 

 

He let his horse wander when he dismounted. He took a seat on the beach and brought his knees up near his chest, finally letting the pent up tears stream down his face. 

 

You got back to camp after picking up groceries with Sadie. Her and Pearson unloaded the cart and you looked around camp but couldn't find Arthur anywhere.

 

”Hey Dutch, ” you asked as you walked past his tent. ”You seen Arthur?” 

 

”Don't care, ” he replied flatly before pulling the flaps of his tent closed. 

 

”He's been in a bit of a mood all day, ” Hosea said, putting a hand on your shoulder. ”Saw Arthur head that way. Follow the shore and I'm sure you'll be able to find him.” 

 

”Thank you, ” you nodded earnestly.

 

He gave you a pat on the back and let you go. You mounted up and followed the water. Sure enough, you saw horse tracks heading the same way. You rode for about 15 minutes before spotting him. You rode fast and barely slowed down before dismounting. He looked up at you with red eyes, fighting to hold himself together. He looked so fragile and so small; hurt in a way you had never seen before. 

 

“What’s going on, honeybear,” you asked as you dropped down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder 

 

He just shook his head.

 

“Please tell me,” you pushed, trying to be gentle. He met your eyes again, clearly gnawing on his cheek. You got close to him and opened up your arms and he immediately clung to you, a few silent tears spilling as his body twitched and shook against you. You rubbed circles at his back, doing what you could to comfort him as he lost himself against you. 

 

“I’ve got you, doll,” you cooed, feeling him finally starting to ease the tension in his body. 

 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whimpered. “I ca- I hate it. I hate him. I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“Talk to me,” you whispered, continuing to gently massage his body. “I’ve got you.”

 

“Goddamn Dutch,” he spat, his voice cracking, “Started spewing bullshit about me not doing anything around here. He works me into the ground and I- Y/N I don’t know what else he wants from me.”

 

You just nodded, humming and pressing kisses to his head to encourage him to continue. 

 

“He just comes to me whenever he’s angry. He’s done it since I was a boy and I still don’t know why. I do what he asks, I bring in as much money as I can. Hell, look at the goddamn ledger. Comes in telling me I weren’t shit. I’m tired, I’m so goddamn tired…”

 

“You do more for this gang than anyone else, I don’t know how he can’t see that,” you replied, keeping your voice low and mellow no matter how heated you really were. “I hope he comes to his senses. He better. I’ll kick his ass myself if I have to.”

 

He let out a little hum of laughter with that, making you feel at least a little less on edge.  Though, you were still bitter and angry nonetheless. Dutch treated Arthur like the scum of the earth, only coming to him when he needs an extra gun, never to praise or simply talk. Dutch was able to work on his own schedule, but Arthur. Arthur didn’t get a break. Arthur was no more than a workhorse with a shooting arm. Arthur, though one of the founding members of the gang and practically the only real breadwinner, was just barely a step above the bottom of the totem pole. 

 

Arthur didn’t want to talk, just relax, and you let him. He shifted his position, letting his head fall in your lap as he watched the short waves crash on the sand. He didn’t sleep, just sat there and took the time to breathe; he didn’t get to do that often. You combed your hand through his hair and continued to whisper little praises, just trying to keep his head from sinking back into a bad place. You made sure to wipe the stubborn tears from his eyes and gave him a bit to drink, just taking care of him.

 

After about an hour, Arthur was ready to get up. You took it slow and whistled for your horses, mounting up and just letting them trot back to camp. You left them at the feeding posts and led Arthur back to his tent, letting him lay down properly for a nap he desperately needed. You kneeled by the side of his tent, eye level to where he laid on his belly. 

 

“Rest up now,” you whispered, taking his hand and pressing kisses to his knuckles. 

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“Shh, it’s alright. Sleep well, darlin’.”

 

You patted his back and left his side, giving it a few minutes to ensure he was actually asleep before doing what you needed to do: chew Dutch’s ass out.

 

You walked like a cartoon criminal, your gait uneven and fists clenched as you headed toward where Dutch stood near the dock.  _ Look at that asshole, standing all smug and proud with that goddamn cigar,  _ you thought to yourself,  _ what I wouldn’t give to shove it down your throat this second. _

 

You were about six feet away from him when you called out his name. He turned on his heels, facing you with a confused look, “What the hell do you need?”

 

“You’ve got no right to talk like that, asshole.”

 

“What did you just say,” he asked with a raised brow. 

 

“ _ You’ve got no right to talk like that,  _ **_asshole_ ** _ ,”  _ you spat back firmly.

 

“And what’s got your hosiery in a bunch?”

 

“I mean that little argument you had with Arthur earlier. Told me all about it, he did. Does all your fucking dirty work and you’ve got the audacity to treat him the way you do.  _ Bullshit. _ Gang has seen it, I sure as shit have seen it, I’m sick of your shit Dutch. That’s what’s got my hosiery in a goddamn bunch.”

 

He scoffed, “Really, that’s what this is about?”

 

“You wanna stand there and act all high and mighty as if you’ve done more than sit on your ass and read some garbage philosophy books all day when you send him out to provide for your family. I ain’t having it. I’m done.”

 

“I will not tolerate being spoken to this way,” he shouted. “Back your ass up,  _ boy _ , before I knock you out.”

 

“Fucking try me, old man,” you shouted back. 

 

You squared up, catching your balance and watched as Dutch shucked his rings from his fingers, “Bareknuckle, eh? I thought this was a fair fight before but now, whoosh, betting you might need a bit of help.”

 

“Oh you goddamn-” his grumbles were cut off by you hitting him square in the jaw. You threw your dukes up, coving you face and trying to keep things clean, but Dutch was anything but a clean fighter. 

 

The two of you exchanged quick blows back and forth for less than 10 seconds before you heard a loud shout. Dutch got a good hit in, making you lose your balance for a moment, and in that second, Arthur decked him.

 

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ lay a hand on my boy,” Arthur shouted, venom weaved within his words. 

 

Not a moment later, the shouts of the other top guns surround you. Hosea and Javier grabbed you by the shoulders and restrained you as best they could but you were seeing red. Charles and John grabbed Arthur, pulling him off of Dutch and Charles pinned him the the ground to keep him from doing any more damage. Susan gave Dutch a hand up and he brushed the dirt from his shoulders. He was bleeding from his nose and had a small, but prominent cut on his jaw. You knew you were hurt but the adrenaline was clouding your senses, the only real tell being the sticky feeling on your forehead and the taste of copper in your mouth. 

 

Dutch was scowling and Arthur was still struggling to move from under Charles. Javier loosened his grip on you, but Hosea still had you by the shirt collar. 

 

“Now tell me what in the hell started this before I put a bullet in all three of you,” Susan called out. 

 

None of you answered, too focused to answer and too angry to care. You made eye contact with Dutch and he bit at his cheek, breathing heavily. He swiped his thumb across his jaw and saw the blood on his hands. Looking up at you briefly, he turned to Miss Grimshaw. 

 

“Let them go. I don’t want to deal with this right now. Get me a fucking bandage.”

 

The crowd cleared and you got a few dirty looks and angry remarks. Hosea gave that “we will  _ definitely _ talk about this later” look, and you rolled your eyes— though, you accepted it as a shitty consequence. Arthur took you and grabbed some supplies from Strauss’ wagon before sitting you down on his cot. 

 

“Never took you as the fighting type,” he said with a smirk as he doused a rag in alcohol.

 

“I ain’t. I just can’t stand that son of a bitch,” you said back aggressively. 

 

“Easy, boy. Easy,” he said calmly. 

 

“You’re the one who knocked him on his ass,” you said before flinching at the burn of the alcohol on your cut. 

  
“Yeah, well,” he said before getting close to you, whispering deeply. “Don’t care who starts it. No one lays a hand on you.  _ No one.” _


End file.
